Who have walked around the house all night with their babies when they kept

crying and wouldn't stop.

Who have shown up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains on

their blouses and diapers in their purses

Who have run carpools and made dozens of cookies for school teas and sewn

Halloween costumes.

Who HAVEN'T because they're at work trying to keep on top of the bills.

Who gave birth to babies they'll never see

Who took those babies and gave them homes and all their love.

Who have frozen their buns off in bleachers at hockey, baseball or soccer

games any night of the week instead of watching from their cars, so that

when their kids asked, "Did you see me?" they could say, "Of course, I

wouldn't have missed it for the world," and meant it.

Who have yelled at their kids in the grocery store and swatted them in

despair when they stomped their feet like a tired 2-year old does, who

wants ice cream before dinner, and then hated themselves for "losing" it.

Who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies.

Who wanted to but just couldn't.

Who read "Goodnight, Moon" twice a night for a year. And then read it

again. "Just one more time."

Who taught their children to tie their shoelaces before they started school.

Who opted for Velcro instead.

Who taught their sons to cook and sew and their daughters to be brave and

strong (and sink a jump shot).

Whose heads turn automatically when a little voice calls "Mom?" in a crowd,

even though they know their own offspring are at home or grown up.

Who sent their kids to school with stomach aches, assuring them they'd be

just FINE once they got there, only to get calls from the school nurse an

hour later asking them to please pick them up. Right away. And they do.

Whose children have gone astray, and who can't find the words to reach them.

Who bite their lips sometimes until they bleed when their 14-year old dyes

their hair green.

What makes a good Mother anyway?

Is it patience?

Compassion?

Broad hips?

The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt, all

at the same time?

Or is it the heart?

Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or daughter disappear down

the street, walking to school alone for the very first time?

Or the terror in your heart at 1 AM when your teenager with the new

driver's license is an hour late getting home.

The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2A.M. to

put your hand on the back of a sleeping baby?

Or to feel the dull ache as you look in on your sleeping daughter or son

the night before they leave for a college in another city.

The need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear

news of a fire, a car accident, a child dying?

This is for all the mothers…

Of the victims of all the school shootings, and the mothers of those who

did the shooting.

Of the survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror,

hugging their child who just came home from school, safely.

Who have tearfully placed flowers and teddy bears on their children’s

graves.

Whose children have died from illness, accidents and the worst of all and

hardest to comprehend, suicides.

Stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation.

Who have learned and are still learning, to let go.

This is for working mothers and stay-at-home mothers. Single mothers and

married mothers. Grandmothers whose wisdom and love remains a constant for

their grown children and their children's children.

Submitted by Norm Rech:

The Mom Test I was out walking with my four-year-old daughter. She picked up something off the ground and started to put it in her mouth. I took the item away from her and I asked her not to do that. “Why?” my daughter asked. “Because it’s been on the ground; you don’t know where it’s been; it’s dirty; and it probably has germs,” I replied. At this point, my daughter looked at me with total admiration and asked, “Mom, how do you know all this stuff? You are so smart.” I was thinking quickly and replied, “All moms know this stuff. It’s on the Mom Test. You have to know it, or they don’t let you be a mom.” We walked along in silence for two or three minutes, but she was evidently pondering this new information. “Oh…I get it!” she beamed, “So if you don’t pass the test you have to be the dad.” “Exactly,” I replied with a big smile on my face.

Submitted by Skip Leonard:

Mom and Dad were watching TV when Mom said, "I'm tired, and it's getting late. I think I'll go to bed." She went to the kitchen to make sandwiches for the next day's lunches. Rinsed out the popcorn bowls, took meat out of the freezer for supper the following evening, checked the cereal box levels, filled the sugar container, put spoons and bowls on the table and started the coffee pot for brewing the next morning. She then put some wet clothes in the dryer, put a load of clothes into the washer, ironed a shirt and secured a loose button. She picked up the game pieces left on the table, put the phone back on the charger and put the telephone book into the drawer. She yawned and stretched and headed for the bedroom. She stopped by the desk and wrote a note to the teacher, counted out some cash for the excursion and pulled a text book out from hiding under the chair. She signed a birthday card for a friend, addressed and stamped the envelope and wrote a quick note for the grocery store. She put both near her bag. Mom then washed her face with 3-in-1 cleanser, put on her night solution and age fighting moisturizer, brushed and flossed her teeth. Dad called out, "I thought you were going to bed." "I'm on my way," she said. She put some water into the dog's dish and put the cat outside, then made sure the doors were locked and the patio light was on.. She looked in on each of the kids and turned out their bedside lamps and radios, hung up a shirt, threw some dirty socks into the hamper, and had a brief conversation with the one up still doing homework. In her own room, she set the alarm; laid out clothing for the next day, straightened up the shoe rack. She added three things to her six most important things to do list. She said her prayers, and visualized the accomplishment of her goals. About that time, Dad turned off the TV and announced to no one in particular. "I'm going to bed." And he did...without another thought. Anything extraordinary here? Wonder why women live longer? 'Cause they are made for the long haul...(and they can't die sooner, they still have things to do!!!!) Women are so special! God's very own creation!

A baby was about to be born, the child asked God, "They tell me you are sending me to earth tomorrow, how am I going to live there being so small and helpless?" "Your angel will be waiting for you and will take care of you." The child further inquired, "But tell me, here in heaven I don't have to do anything but sing and smile to be happy." God said, "Your angel will sing for you and will also smile for you. And you will feel your angel's love and be very happy." Again the child asked, "And how am I going to be able to understand when people talk to me if I don't know the language?" God said, "Your angel will tell you the most beautiful and sweet words you will ever hear, and with much patience and care, your angel will teach how to speak." "And what am I going to do when I want to talk to you?" God said, "Your angel will place your hands together and will teach you how to pray." "Who will protect me?" God said, "Your angel will defend you even if it means risking its own life." "But I will always be sad because I will not see you anymore." God said, "Your angel will always talk to you about me and will teach you the way to come back to me, even though I will always be next to you." At that moment there was much peace in heaven, but voices from earth could be heard and the child hurriedly asked, "God, if I am to leave now, please tell me my angel's name." "You will simply call her ‘MOM.’"

God's Message to Women When I created the heavens and the earth, I spoke them into being. When I created man, I formed him and breathed life into his nostrils. But you, woman, I fashioned after I breathed the breath of life into man because your nostrils are too delicate. I allowed a deep sleep to come over him so I could patiently and perfectly fashion you. Man was put to sleep so that he could not interfere with the creativity. From one bone I fashioned you. I chose the bone that protects man's life. I chose the rib, which protects his heart and lungs and supports him, as you are meant to do. Around this one bone I shaped you. I modeled you. I created you perfectly and beautifully. Your characteristics are as the rib, strong yet delicate and fragile. You provide protection for the most delicate organ in man, his heart. His heart is the center of his being; his lungs hold the breath of life. The rib cage will allow itself to be broken before it will allow damage to the heart. Support man as the rib cage supports the body. You were not taken from his feet, to be under him, nor were you taken from his head, to be above him. You were taken from his side, to stand beside him and be held close to his side. You are my perfect angel, my beautiful little girl. You have grown to be a splendid woman of excellence, and my eyes fill when I see the virtues in your heart. Your eyes are beautiful. Your lips, how lovely when they part in prayer. Your nose, so perfect in form, your hands so gentle to touch. I've caressed your face in your deepest sleep; I've held your heart close to mine. Of all that lives and breathes, you are the most like me. Adam walked with me in the cool of the day and yet he was lonely. He could not see me or touch me. He could only feel me. So everything I wanted Adam to share and experience with me, I fashioned in you: my holiness, my strength, my purity, my love, my protection and support. You are special because you are the extension of me. Man represents my image--Woman, my emotions. Together, you represent the totality of God. So man, treat woman well. Love her, respect her, for she is fragile. In hurting her, you hurt me. What you do to her, you do to me. In hurting her, you only damage your own heart, the heart of your Father, and the heart of her Father. Woman, support man. In humility, show him the power of emotion I have given you. In gentle quietness show your strength. In love, show him that you are the rib that protects his inner self.

Be thankful for all the women in your life—not just mothers, but grandmothers, aunts, sisters, cousins, etc. Al

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